A Ranch Hand is Sleeping in a Greyhound Bus
His dream: a naked woman
growing claws, a naked woman
slicing his tongue in half.
He wakes up and checks the seat
behind his; empty. Outside the window,
stars form a new constellation: a knife
held against a throat.
The Upturned Bowl
of storm clouds drizzles onto her shoulders,
into hog holes. Her daddy’s ruined crops
and her daddy’s fired ranch hand – his shearing knife,
her jeans torn open.
She lays on her back, on the roots
pigs assume are free.